


We Said Things in the Dark

by MlleBree



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 08:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleBree/pseuds/MlleBree
Summary: Christine found where he hid, and he whispered his goodbyes. A proper take on that night that was glossed over in Love Never Dies.





	We Said Things in the Dark

Erik enjoyed the dark and overcast nights.

Perhaps enjoyed is too strong a word.

Erik tolerated the dark and overcast nights the best of any.

The sun was harsh. He had not remembered quite how bright and unforgiving it could be; it was all but forgotten to him five stories below the earth. Until Giry had spirited him away, hiding him in this little cabin in the woods with the promise that it wouldn't be permanent, that she would help him to escape.

Escape for what? He wasn't quite certain. Nearly every day he was tempted to walk down the middle of the streets of Paris, stripping his mask off and all but begging for his hanging.

Damn his survival instinct.

Perhaps all wasn't quite so bad though. He at least had a friend in Giry, small consolation that it was.

She had promised him that no one would find him, that no one would bother him this deep in the woods. That no one knew that the small cabin was even there.

Which is why he was completely caught off guard by the knock on his door at half-past midnight.

He stared silently at the door. There was a long moment in which he debated wether to fight, run or surrender. In the end he froze, simply staring at the innocuous wooden door.

Three more knocks came, each more frantic than the last. If he was honest he was surprised that the door didn't simply give way under the enthusiastic intruders hand - he would be lying if he said that anything in the little cabin was well maintained.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

The knocking continued, only growing more insistent. And then, finally, it grew silent.

His ear was pressed to the door by the time it happened but he heard nothing. No rustle, no movement, no voices. For a moment he was almost certain that he truly had gone mad - perhaps there was no knocking at all. Perhaps he had only imagined the entire ordeal. He wondered exactly how much he had simply imagined in his head over the years.

And then he pulled the door open.

"Erik?"

His eyes weren't quite what they had been - it was difficult to adjust to the sunlight and now he only found it more difficult to re-adjust to the darkness. A moment of squinting, staring, and he was able to see her in the darkness.

"They told me to stay away but I had to see you for myself," she said softly. She was stepping forward - closer, closer. He should have shut the door then, pushed her away, told himself that it was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him but he couldn't, mesmerized by her quiet and confident forward march until her toes were on the threshold and he couldn't close the door, not now. "So it is you."

He swallowed, finding it to be a difficult feat around the tightness in his throat.

"Why are you here?" It came out as a croak and he was suddenly appalled by himself.

"I just told you," she said, her smile soft and patient. "I had to see you for myself."

"I doubt your fiancé would approve of your whereabouts," it was a biting remark but he was encouraged by the way it came out, smooth and low, dangerous. Yes, that was much better.

"My _fiancé_ ," she said, the word coming out with a bite he hadn't known she had in her, "has no business tracking my whereabouts."

She stepped forward, pushing her way into his temporary home without invitation and he found that all he could do was step out of the way, allowing her in. There was a weakness that she brought with her. He wanted to be angry, he wanted all of his anger and hatred to come out in that moment, to frighten her away, he wanted to tell her to leave him alone. Instead he stood silently, watching her as she inspected the furniture.

"It's... homely," she offered after a long moment. "It reminds me of being with papa."

He was silent still, simply watching her. He found it was all he could do to watch her.

Her eyes finally settled on him, a gentle smile on her face. Pity. That was all she had ever felt for him, wasn't it? He hated that pitying look.

He wouldn't tell her that either.

"But its comfortable, I suppose," she said, falling back onto the ratty sofa. "Is it warm when you light the fire? I think a warm fire would be delightful right now."

Madness. That was all he could bear to think. He had made her as mad as him. He wasn't sure wether he should be disappointed or intrigued by that.

"Why are you here Christine?" It was the only thing he could say and he would repeat it until he had a satisfying answer. He had nothing but time at this point.

She sighed, leaning back against the sofa and looking up at him sadly. "Well, don't you want me here? Or would you rather I leave? It's fairly cold and dark out there but I suppose if you really wish it I will go."

He felt his own frown, unbidden and unwelcome. "I said no such thing."

"Good," she said, her smile returning. "Then we are agreed - you should light a fire and sit with me, Erik. I fear I may have caught a chill."

He stood still, frozen. He didn't know wether he would be able to light the fire even if he wished to.

Christine crossed her arms over her chest, shivering dramatically.

How he hated her. How he loathed her innocence, hated her pitying looks, hated the weakness that she instilled in him. Hated that still his heart swelled and beat with his love for her.

"You should go."

"You should light a fire," she said again, looking at him meaningfully. "It is cold, Erik. And it is a long walk through the woods - and besides, I'm fairly certain it's starting to snow. I'm afraid you will be stuck with me until daybreak."

Stuck with her. What an odd choice of words.

"I've nothing to light a fire with."

"Oh," she said. "Well, don't you get awfully cold? Winter is coming."

To her credit she did sound genuinely concerned.

"No," he said, the strange husk back in his voice. "I do not often go traipsing about in the snow after midnight."

She bit her lip as she considered his words and then she sighed. "Do you hate me so terribly much Erik?"

_Yes._

"No."

"You made me leave," she was suddenly defensive, anger coloring her words. "I said that I would stay and you made me leave. And now! You tell me to leave. I come to you, and you try to send me away. Can you hate me so very much?"

She wasn't mad, he decided. No, there was no madness in her words. She was simply hurt. Perhaps she was as confused as he was.

He didn't respond. Instead he walked into the bedroom and returned with a quilt, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"I cannot build you a fire," he said as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "But I can brew you warm tea."

There was a deep sadness in her eyes, something he hadn't been able to see from so far away. But it was there and it brought tears with it, gathering in the corners of her eyes and trembling precariously, threatening to fall at the slightest provocation.

"Would you like tea?" his words were gentle.

She nodded, wiping at the tears before they could fall. "Tea would be wonderful."

So he brewed her tea, all the while wondering what strange new world she had brought through his doorstep. He was terribly confused and for a moment he wondered if it was simply a dream, some feverish vision of his infected mind. Perhaps that was it. He would wake in the morning and wonder what had prompted such an odd dream, he would laugh at himself wondering how he had ever believed any of it to be real.

Yes, it was a dream. It must be.

He handed the mug to her with a new confidence, sitting easily beside her as she sipped at it.

He allowed himself a long moment to look at her, to search for any discrepancy between the image of her before him and the truth of her appearance. He found none. She was a perfect model of his Christine, each feature exactly as he remembered it. It hadn't been so terribly long since he had seen her - a month, maybe two at the most - and he doubted that he could forget her so soon.

Her eye caught his and she smiled. It wasn't a smile of pity. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but pity wasn't it.

"Why are you here?" his question still hung unanswered and he wasn't one to give up quite so easily.

She grew silent, looking down into her cup. "I'm not sure."

Her brow was furrowed and all he wanted to do was reach out, smooth the lines on her forehead. Tell her that he forgave her.

"There must be a reason, Christine."

His candles were burning out, one by one. It happened so quickly - they had been cast in the orange glow and then suddenly all they had left was the flicker of one small candle, burning away in the kitchen and casting long, odd shadows through the room.

She shivered again, pulling the quilt tightly with one hand as her other grasped the mug firmly. "Do you think this is the last time I will see you?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I thought that night would be the last I saw of you and yet - here you are."

He heard her sniff as the last candle burned out, plunging them into complete darkness.

"I'm getting married tomorrow."

It was unnecessary information. "I know," he said quietly. "And I wish you a long and happy marriage." It felt good to say the words out loud, to know that he truly meant them.

She sighed and shifted. She was squinting at him through the darkness, trying to see him. It was futile. "I don't know what to do," her confession was whispered and hung heavily in the space between them.

"You'll get married," he said softly, ignoring his own aching heart. "And you will find love and happiness, and you'll have children. You'll live in the light, where you're meant to be."

"What if I'm not meant to live in the light?"

"You are," he answered confidently. "Why do you think I sent you away? Do you think that this is what I want? I would kill you Christine."

She bit her lip. He could see her through the darkness - only just barely. Just as beautiful in the dark as in the light, he thought.

"You are having second thoughts." It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact.

She shifted beside him, pulling the blanket tighter around her as her teeth chattered. "I'm still terribly cold, Erik."

He reached out in the darkness, his long, thin fingers brushing her hair back so that he could see her face only a little better. "I can fetch you another blanket," he offered. "Or perhaps you would like me to draw you a warm bath?"

She shook her head, one hand releasing the blanket as it moved up to capture his, pressing it firmly to her cheek. "I don't want you to leave me Erik." He heard the double meaning behind the words, the desperate reach to him through the darkness.

She was brave in the darkness.

"I don't want to leave you," he admitted softly, his thumb daring to brush against her cheek. "You have to understand, Christine."

"You think you know what is best for me," she said, her voice unwavering. "You don't. How can you know what I want? What I need?"

"Christine…"

"No," she said, cutting him off. She was moving so quickly he hardly had time to recognize what was happened before his mask was gone. She was shifting again, her face drawing nearer and nearer to his and then - oh! so gently her lips pressed to his.

Her soft, heavenly lips.

His hands firmly pushed her away by her shoulders as he tried to catch his breath. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," she sounded almost offended by his question. "Do you not enjoy my lips either, then?"

"You are playing with fire, Christine. And I hardly believe that you grasp that," his voice was wavering with his words, never quite managing to find that threatening calm he had been searching for.

"I am cold," she reminded him softly. "Perhaps a little fire is not so terrible."

He pulled her back to him, his lips demanding and rough against hers and she cried out, prompting him to push her away again.

"You hardly have any concept of what you are doing," his voice was gruff and gravelly. "You could hardly understand what a terrible mistake you are making."

Her fingers closed around his wrists, her lips moved back to his, gentle and slow. "I know exactly what I am doing," she breathed against his skin. "You and he, you've spent so much time making my decisions for me. Should I not be allowed to make my own? Should I have to blindly follow what I'm told?"

"When you are making such terrible choices, yes," he breathed, finding it hard to concentrate with her lips so close to his, so gentle, so teasing.

She pulled away, looking toward him with fire in her eyes. "I am not a child, Erik."

"Yes, you are," he argued gently, finding his concern for her growing.

"Why would you say that?" she was angry now, offended, and her own hurt made him ache with guilt.

"If you weren't you wouldn't be here," he said, his hand finding her cheek, his fingers brushing gently over her soft skin. "If you weren't you would understand why I sent you away. If you weren't then you would know what was best for you - this is not it, Christine. I am not it."

"How can you know?" she was firm in her beliefs, refusing to sway.

"I am a bad man," he reminded her. "My temper is uncontrollable, I tried to kill your fiancé if you've managed to forget that. I am dangerous, Christine, and you should want something better than me - you should wish for something more."

She was slipping away and he found himself half regretting his words, wishing she was still close to him, wishing he could pull her lips back to his.

"I never said that it was smart," she said slowly. "I never said that it was an objectively good decision. But shouldn't what I want matter?"

"Of course it matters Christine."

"I don't think you believe that," she murmured. "I don't think either of you believe that."

"What is it that you want?" he asked, looking at her carefully in the darkness.

She frowned then and he hated it.

"I don't know," she admitted softly.

He sighed at that. "So you come here," he said softly. "And you, what, make love to me? And then you go back to your fiancé and you regret the rash decision for the rest of your life. How can I let you do that? How could I bear that?"

Her bottom lip was captured in-between her teeth as she looked down at her feet guiltily. "I thought you would want me," she admitted quietly.

"I do," he confirmed easily. "Of course I do, Christine. I've never stopped wanting you, not for a moment."

She looked toward his voice. "You do?"

"Of course I do."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Then kiss me," she said.

He was careful, gentle when his hand came to frame her jaw, as he turned her face toward his. And then he kissed her, gently, a kiss full of restraint.

"What if I know what I want?" she said breathlessly when he pulled away from her.

"Then tell me," his thumb continued to stroke her jaw. He found himself completely incapable of breaking contact with her.

"You wont like it," she admitted.

He laughed at that, a breathless, hollow laugh. "I've no doubt that I won't," he said. "Tell me anyway."

She leaned forward again, her lips brushing against his in the darkness, her hand covering his on her jaw. "I want to stay."

His eyes slid closed at that. Of course she did, he knew that. He had known that when she kissed him that night. But how could he condemn her to a life at his side? How could he drag her along with him? How could he allow her to step into the dangerous path he would be following?

"Erik, I want to stay," she said again, just a bit louder as though she thought he hadn't heard her.

"I am leaving," he said slowly. "I am going to a place very far from here."

Her fingers tightened around his. "Then I will follow you," she said desperately. "Here or anywhere, it makes no difference to me. I know what I want and I want to stay - I want to stay with you."

"You don't know what you're saying," he breathed.

"Yes I do," she argued. "I know exactly what I'm saying - I don't want to marry Raoul, Erik. I want to follow you - across oceans and land, I would follow you anywhere."

Despite the painful ache in his chest he leaned forward and caught her lips with his. He kissed her slowly, languidly, savoring the moment. When he broke the kiss he pressed his lips to her forehead, trying to ignore the way her breath caught, trying to ignore the terrible guilt that he felt.

His hand slid out from under hers and his fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist.

"Come with me," he could hear the shake in his own words, the nervousness, the guilt at what he was going to do but he couldn't deny himself any longer.

She followed him easily, trusting him to guide her through the unfamiliar house in the darkness. And when he turned and pressed his lips to hers again in the doorway of the bedroom she kissed him back fervently, her free arm wrapping around his shoulder as she pulled herself against him.

"I love you," he breathed to her, contenting himself with the fact that it wasn't a lie. Contenting himself with the fact that he made her no promises.

"I love you so much," she whispered in return, her mouth finding his again.

The worst part was that he believed her. When she spoke the words, when she told him that she wanted to follow him, he believed her fully. If only she could have been lying to him perhaps he wouldn't feel so terribly guilty, perhaps he wouldn't be so completely torn.

"Come with me," he repeated again, walking her slowly across the room. He pressed his lips to hers again and again, gentle, soft kisses as he guided her toward the mattress.

And when he caught her in his arms and laid her upon the mattress she made no protest, simply reaching her arms up toward him as she beckoned him to join her.  
Join her he did, nervously laying on his side next to her, his fingers tracing the contour of her face.

"It's alright, you know," she offered after a long moment of silence. "I know… I know what it is you want and it's alright - I want it too." She looked so confident, so brave there in the darkness. For a moment he wondered if she could see him, but he waved his fingers in front of her eyes and she didn't react. He was satisfied by that. Although, perhaps if she could see him - no.

He pressed his lips to hers again, just a bit more demanding and she leaned into his kiss.

Her hand found his on her cheek and slowly she guided it downward, over her throat, her shoulder, down to her breast.

"I love you Erik," she whispered again.

He shivered against her, too overwhelmed to speak. Instead he kissed her again, hoping that she could understand his wordless declaration.

She sighed into his lips, relaxing against the pillows as his curious hand explored her bosom, frustrated by the barrier between her skin and his hand formed by the material of her dress.

"Christine," his voice was broken and strained but she nodded anyway.

Her fingers were moving up quickly, working open the buttons on her dress expertly. She was shifting under him, shimmying out of the garment and his breath caught at the sight of her corset, his long hands wrapping around her bound waist.

"You are so beautiful," he hated the strain in his voice but not quite enough to hold to words back. When she smiled up at him he was glad that he hadn't.

"And yours, Erik," she whispered her promise.

" _Mine_ ," he breathed, the word filling him with something that he didn't quite understand.

She shifted again, ignoring his hands on her waist as she began to pull at her corset, popping open the clasps that ran down the front of the garment.

Her chemise was so thin, so incredibly thin, and when his hand found her breast again he could feel her completely, her hardened nipple dragging across his palm so delectably.

"I want you," he breathed, hoping that she could understand the meaning behind his words.

"I want you too," she said softly, surging up and pressing her lips first to his, and then to his torn cheek, to the terrible spot where his thin skin showed veins. "I want you so terribly."

"I won't - I won't be able to stop myself," he warned her as his hand trailed down, beginning at her collarbone and running between her breasts, down to her belly button.

She sighed under his touch. "I don't want you to stop yourself," she whispered to him gruffly. He was suddenly less self-conscious about his voice. "I have no second thoughts, Erik. I know what I want and it is you."

He groaned, pressing his face against her throat. He kissed at the skin he could reach, reveling in her shiver.

Her fingers were moving against his chest, working at the buttons on his shirt now.

He wondered if he was a truly bad person. He continued to kiss her throat, his hand finding her breast again. He truly was a monster, he thought. There was no debating it - a good man would marry the girl, a good man wouldn't touch her when he knew that she wasn't meant for him.

He was not a good man.

Her fingers were warm against his bare chest and he shifted, allowing her to push his shirt off of his shoulders.

"Do you know how very much I love you?" he whispered to her in the darkness.

"I love you too, Erik," she whispered in return.

He was silent for a long while, kissing her lips as her hands explored the skin of his chest and back, her fingertips gentle and warm.

"I want you to remember," he said quietly. "I want you to remember, to never doubt my love for you - not for a second. No matter what happens. I want you to know how very deeply I love you."

"I won't forget," she promised quietly.

He nodded, his lips pressing to her jaw as his hands gathered her chemise. When he had enough of the material clenched in his fists he pulled it up, grateful when she assisted him by lifting her arms and letting him pull it over her head.

His fingers silently skimmed her pale, soft skin, His lips following close behind them. She writhed beneath him, gasping in surprise when he dared to allow his tongue to dart out and taste her.

When he yanked away her pantalets she made no complaint, even as his fingers explored the thick curls that hid between her legs, even as his finger dared to dip lower and into that most secret, hidden place.

Instead she sighed and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his forehead.

His fingers explored her while he listened - her breathing went shallow when he stroked just there, she gasped when he pressed here, when he tweaked this spot just this way she mewled. And when his fingers dared to slip just a bit lower and one brave digit pressed inside of her she gasped loudly, her fingers tightening around his arms as she yanked him closer.

"Erik," she whispered frantically. His finger moved inside of her, stroking here, pressing there, finding that he could play her similarly just like this.

"Erik!" she whined low in her throat. "Erik, Erik I - I need you now. I want you now."

How could he deny her when she asked so sweetly, when she begged so desperately?

So he was pulling away, kicking his trousers away and off of the bed and sinking back down, pressing his lips to hers, teasing, ever teasing, even as her knees fell open and she captured him between her thighs, even as her back arched and she pressed herself toward him.

"Please," she whined, and he couldn't deny her any longer.

He pressed inside of her slowly, gently, ever conscious of the sounds she made, of the way her face scrunched up.

And at her first whimper of pain her paused, pressing kisses gently to her face.

"I love you, I love you so very much Christine," he murmured to her, trying to allow her time to adjust to the feeling. He had always heard that it was painful for women the first time and the last thing that he wanted her to feel in that moment was pain.

And so he kissed her lips, her nose, her eyelids gently until her hand closed around his arm and she nodded.

When he was finally fully sheathed inside of her he paused again, trying to catch his own breath. She was so warm and perfect, everything about her was so delectably perfect and he wanted to savor her for as long as he possibly could.

"Erik?" she whispered into the darkness.

"Yes Christine?" he matched her tone carefully, pressing a kiss to her perfect nose.

"I love you," she reminded him, sounding calm and complacent.

He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her gently. "I love you so very much," he whispered against her lips.

"I want to follow you - I will follow you, anywhere you go," she sounded so desperate and for a moment he felt the guilt clouding in his chest again.

"I know," he whispered, pressing his lips everywhere they could reach as he began to move inside of her - slowly, gently. "I know that you do, love."

Her breath caught and her leg moved, wrapping around his waist as she attempted to press herself only closer to him.

"I never - I never want this - oh! - I don't want this moment to end," she was excited, the words difficult to force out around her pleasure.

"I don't either," he confessed, lacing his fingers through hers and pressing his lips to her forehead again - loving, gentle.

She whined again, deep in her throat and he untangled one hand from her, daring to reach it down between their bodies and gently stroke that spot that had made her whine before. Her newly freed hand found purchase on his shoulder, her fingers tightening as she cried out with her pleasure.

"Erik," she whispered frantically.

"It's fine," he reassured her, pressing his lips against hers again. "It's fine, I'm right here. You can let go, Christine."

And she did. She cried out, his name on her lips, and as amazing as it was for her it was only twice as amazing for him.

He could feel her muscles as they spasmed, fluttering around him so gently. His lips pressed against hers and the sensation was all too much. He could feel it coming any moment now as he teetered precariously on the edge.

He laced his fingers through hers again, his grasp tightening as he found his release, pressing deep inside of her as he murmured what was meant to be words of love but were far more likely to have been gibberish.

When he finally caught his breath he pressed his lips to her forehead, pulling out of her just as carefully, trying to ignore the way she flinched at the sensation.

But when he laid beside her she pressed herself between his arms, letting him pull her close against him.

His fingers drew slow patterns on her skin as he held her close. The guilt was back in full force now and he couldn't bear to speak - not now. This was a moment that should have been savored and he refused to destroy it with his words.

She sighed against his chest, her breath as warm as his skin. "Where will we go?" She breathed.

His heart ached heavily as he pressed his lips to her forehead again. "I don't know," he answered as honestly as he could.

She snuggled in against him with a gentle smile and a yawn. "It doesn't matter anyway," she said sleepily. "As long as you're there."

"Christine?" he breathed.

"Hmm?"

He should tell her, he thought. But he couldn't bear to. He was a coward - that's much he could admit. "I love you," he said instead. "No matter what, I love you. You promised me that you would remember that."

"Of course I will," her sleep-heavy voice murmured. "I love you too."

"Promise me," he insisted.

"I promise," she answered.

He nodded at that, stroking her hair gently until she finally drifted off to sleep in his arms, pressed against him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her in the darkness. "I am so incredibly sorry. I love you, I love you so very much and I'm sorry."

She shifted in her sleep and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He laid there for longer than he should have, perhaps hoping that she would wake up, hoping that she would stop him. He stole the moments selfishly, trying to memorize the feeling of her in his arms, the sensation of her warm breath on his bare skin.

But when the sun began to break over the horizon he knew his time was up.

He slipped slowly and gently from beneath her, doing his best not to wake her as he slipped away, quietly pulling on his trousers, silently replacing his mask.

And when he was dressed he stood quietly beside the bed, watching her sleep.

"I love you," he whispered. "That is why I have to go. I know you will be angry, and maybe you will hate me. But I can't stay - I can't - I can't do that to you."

It was much easier to be honest with her while she slept. She was far more receptive to his honesty in this state.

Eventually he moved forward, hoping one last time that she would wake when he pressed his lips to her forehead.

There was no such luck though, she merely shifted in her sleep and smiled softly.

"Goodbye, Christine," he whispered, his heart breaking in his chest as he turned and slipped out into the freshly fallen snow.


End file.
